Now, he’s published his first book, The Drug Lord’s Son, a true account of his life as the firstborn son of a notorious criminal – and he includes some of his time in Malta. 

Below are some excerpts from The Drug Lord’s Son, courtesy of Rainer. 

Our move to Malta that summer was yet another exciting first. We would rent a room for a few weeks in a luxurious villa owned by an elegant Maltese woman named Helena before moving into a charming townhouse in the baroque capital city, Valletta. She had contacted me after seeing a post from ‘Rainer von Helin’ looking for a short-term rental in a public Facebook group.

Knowing I had just graduated from film school, she immediately started sending me names of friends working in the film industry, particularly the set for By the Sea, the film being made by Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt that same summer.

When we walked out of the airport, the soaring desert-like heat was suffocating.

I’d start sweating immediately, and the taxi would take us through the sandiest limestone towns, which changed name every couple of miles.

Eventually, we would arrive in Swieqi, a quiet residential area, and we were pleased to see that the designer villa was real — so was the pool, and the fabulous crowd at the house were like something out of a Slim Aarons portrait. In that sense, Helena, who I had just met, had given me more in a few days than my own parents had in years.

I was able to buy my very own townhouse on Triq Iż–Żewġ Mini in one of The Three Cities, in Senglea. Once the centre of Malta’s elite and intelligentsia, it was considered as the ‘rough South’ by the locals, which was fine by me.

The seaside town had a beautiful promenade with seafood restaurants and a glorious view towards the luxury yachts in Vittoriosa and Valletta on the other side of the harbour. Many wealthy people were in Malta to avoid taxes, but we were there just to escape reality and live a laid-back lifestyle in the Mediterranean, eating scallop ravioli and riding dgħajsa gondolas.

Once classy, now rough — Senglea would suit me just fine.

Even our neighbour was a hoodlum. He went by the name ‘il-Killer’ and he’d keep a Pit Bull he brought back from Serbia on the balcony guarding his drugs and money. I’d ask him whether he could hook me up with weed, hash, anything, since ironically it was impossible to find any on the island and being in the possession of marijuana was considered a severe crime.

Il-Killer would pick us up in his tuned-out Honda and drive Brigitta and I out into the middle of nowhere. He’d wear a gold chain and a wife-beater, offering me Marlboro Red cigarettes, which I hadn’t smoked since my cocaine-fuelled nights in Madrid.

Both the ebook and paperback are now available on Amazon.

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